


Sherlock: Merry Christmas

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Notes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas Eve and DI Lestrade is working like usual. But things start to go weird very quickly. A little Mystrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Murderers Are Easy To Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

**Murderers Are Easy To Catch**

So far it had been the worst Christmas ever. Well, it wasn’t technically Christmas yet. It was five pm on Christmas Eve and DI Lestrade was chasing a murder suspect down the ice-slick street. His back hurt, his head ached, and his nicotine patch had stopped working about four hours earlier, leaving him irritable and snappy.

It didn’t help that Sherlock Holmes was running about like a psychotic four-year-old, finding apparently obvious clues wherever he goddamn went. Sometimes Lestrade really hated that genius, who was probably at home shagging his flatmate-turned-boyfriend while Greg was coughing up a lung.

The guy, Dustin Leonard, tore through a group of teenagers doing some last minute Christmas shopping. It was the same every year, Lestrade thought as he vaulted over two girls who had been knocked down. Every bloody Londoner left their shopping ’til the last goddamn minute.

Donovan had got ahead of him and threw Leonard off his feet. The man managed to scramble out of both their grips and took off again, earning a shout from Donovan and a rather lengthy curse that would make sailor’s blush from Lestrade.

  _I’m getting too old for this shit_ , Greg thought as he pushed through yet another gaggling group of young people. Seriously, they were bloody everywhere.

Suddenly Leonard was gone, disappearing into the crowd, and Lestrade and Donovan stopped. Lestrade bent over panting, chest aching as he tried to catch his breath. Since quitting smoking he’d found the whole ‘chasing after dangerous suspects’ part of his job a lot easier. But still, he was forty-seven, he wasn’t as young as other cops like Donovan. He couldn’t run forever, unlike Sherlock Goddamn Holmes.

‘Damn it!’ Donovan shouted, already getting her breath back.

God did Lestrade hate her. ‘Fuck it,’ he groaned. He’d have to call Sherlock and let the sociopath know he’d lost Leonard. ‘FUCK!’

He earned some reproaching glances as he and Donovan started walking again, eyes peeled for Dustin Leonard. The chances of finding the man were slim.

They passed a convenience store and Lestrade froze to look in. Someone was buying cigarettes and he had the sudden urge to grab a packet.

‘Don’t think so,’ Donovan scowled and dragged him away.

‘Just one,’ he pleaded, ‘Come’n, Sally.’

‘No, sir, you’re doing well,’ Donovan said, hand reassuring on Lestrade’s arm. He knew he was a pain in the arse when he quit (he’d quite about twenty-three times since joining Scotland Yard) but had so far gone three months without a fag. He really didn’t want to fail now... but they were so damn good!

‘Come _on_ ,’ he begged again.

Sally shook her head and kept a hand on him, steering her boss back towards their car. When they reached it she opened the door and rummaged through the glove box.

‘Here,’ Sally said and pressed a box of nicotine patches into his hands. Lestrade managed a smile.

‘Thanks,’ he said and pulled one out, tearing the wrapping open. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and pulled off the used patch, replacing it with the new one.

‘No worries,’ Sally smiled.

There was a screech behind them and both turned to a see a large black car roll to a stop. The back door opened and a young woman, late twenties, exited. She kept her eyes trained on her expensive BlackBerry.

‘Er, can we help you?’ Lestrade asked, eyes narrowing. The woman was familiar... where had he seen her before?

‘This is for you,’ the woman said and nodded at the car. The back door opened and a man was tipped out, his hands and feet bound, a gag stuffed into his mouth.

‘What the hell?’ Lestrade said and stepped forward, going for his handcuffs.

The woman looked up at him and smiled. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Welcome?’ Sally demanded. Before she or Lestrade could arrest the young lady she had stepped back into the rather posh car. Tires squealed as it tore off, leaving two very angry cops behind.

‘What the fuck?’ Lestrade muttered and dragged the tied-up guy to his feet. ‘Son of a bitch!’ he gasped.

It was Dustin Leonard; delivered wrapped up just for Lestrade and Donovan.

‘I’m confused,’ Sally said.

There was a note tied around Leonard’s neck and Lestrade grabbed it as Sally pushed the man into the back of their panda car.

 

 **_M_ ** _urderers are easy to catch._

 

Lestrade scowled. Who the bloody hell had orchestrated this? Who, besides Sherlock and John Watson, knew that Lestrade and Sally were even chasing Leonard? Who had the power to deliver the criminal half-an-hour after Lestrade and Sally had lost him?

Greg growled. He really, really hated Christmas.


	2. Everybody Likes Chocolate

**Everybody Likes Chocolate**

They hauled Leonard in for questioning based on Sherlock Holmes’ deductions. It took two long hours but finally Leonard broke down and confessed; he’d killed the woman, Mary Alexander, because she didn’t return his sexual needs. Something about jumpers and cricket bats that Lestrade didn’t want to think about.

Greg yawned and leaned against the wall in the hallway, just needing a minute to compose himself. He felt so tired and out of it. Christmas was fast approaching and what did he have to look forward to? Beer, microwavable food and a Doctor Who Christmas special. Nothing too exciting.

Though he supposed it would be better than last year. The previous Christmas Lestrade had been in hospital with Sherlock. John Watson had been their only visitor, having escaped any serious injury himself. He’d brought food and presents, even getting a gift for Lestrade. Despite the horrible pain from his broken leg it had been an alright day.

Lestrade yawned and headed for his office, swinging by the break room to grab some coffee. It was horrible shit that left a bitter taste in your mouth but it was caffeine and Lestrade needed a hit. He’d already stuck a new nicotine patch on and was waiting for the small buzz to hit. He wished smoking wasn’t so unhealthy.

He winced as he took his coffee into his office, the black sludge tasting no better with sugar. He spotted a box on his desk and frowned, head tilted as he approached.

It was a box of assorted chocolates; an expensive box. Still frowning, Lestrade pulled the red ribbon from the box and picked up the plain white paper that had been stuck to the front.

 

 **_E_ ** _verybody likes chocolate._

 

It was written in the same flowing, perfect script as the last note, the one he’d found on Dustin Leonard. Lestrade fell into his seat and sipped his coffee, too used to the taste to gag like he once had.

Okay, this was a little creepy. Someone powerful had taken down and delivered Leonard to him and Donovan. Now they’d left a box of chocolates on his desk.

Lestrade wandered if it was Sherlock. No, he would have made a big fuss about catching Leonard. Watson? Definitely not. He was more prone to shooting bad guys than catching them. Secret admirer?

Lestrade snorted. Right, some all-powerful figure was secretly in love with him and was making his Christmas Eve weird with cryptic little notes. He was in his late forties; no secret admirers for Lestrade.

He glanced at the chocolates again. They were very expensive, too expensive for chocolate. Lestrade had tried them before and loved them. He ran a finger over the box, wondering if they were poisoned.

Well, gone was the image of stuffing his face with chocolate-y goodness. He pushed the chocolates into his desk draw and sipped his coffee.


	3. Raspberries Are Your Favourite

**Raspberries Are Your Favourite**

Christmas always brought out the weirdos. It was like every other major holiday. Lestrade, though part of the murder division at Scotland Yard, found himself called out to a domestic dispute ten minutes after finding the mystery chocolates.

He managed to push it from his mind as he put himself between the man and his wife, both hurling abuse. Donovan was keeping her eyes fixed on the man, so much so that she didn’t see the wife go for a plate.

‘Donovan!’ Lestrade shouted.

The woman hurled the plate and Lestrade pushed Donovan aside. Porcelain smashed into his head and he slumped into his subordinate, legs shaking as a throbbing, piercing pain slashed through his head.

‘Son of a bitch!’ he shouted.

The man was wide-eyed, hands up. The woman started screaming again but Donovan let Lestrade go to cuff her. The DI slumped into the wall and pressed fingers to his head, wincing. They came away covered in blood and he groaned, using the sleeve of his coat to staunch the flow.

‘Fuck,’ he moaned. He HATED Christmas.

 

-oOo-

 

The woman was packed away, being charged with assaulting a police officer. Lestrade sat in the back of an ambulance, stitches being pushed into his forehead. He yawned and felt his skin tear, fresh pain rolling over him.

‘Stay still,’ the paramedic complained.

Lestrade glared at her.

‘Alright there?’ Donovan asked, having sent the woman away with a couple of uniforms.

‘Yeah, fine,’ her boss mumbled. ‘Same old.’

She huffed a laugh before pulling a box from behind her back.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘For you,’ she said and he took the box. It was clear plastic and wrapped in a bright green bow. Inside were the reddest raspberries Lestrade had ever seen. His mouth watered as he looked them over. God he was hungry.

But attached to the bow was a square piece of paper and he groaned. No, not again.

‘They were left on the car,’ Donovan told him as he pulled out the note to read it.

 

 **_R_ ** _aspberries are your favourite._

 

Who the fuck was this? And how did they know he loved raspberries? Lestrade scowled and stuffed the note into his pocket with the other two.

Donovan raised an eyebrow and he said, ‘It’s nothing, forget it.’

She just hummed and watched him carefully as the paramedic continued to stitch up his head. Lestrade’s eyes drifted to the raspberries and he turned the box over in his hand.


	4. Roasted Peanuts Are A Lovely Snack

**Roasted Peanuts Are A Lovely Snack**

Though Lestrade was hungry, his head was throbbing and he felt if he ate anything he’d throw up or faint. So he waved aside Donovan’s offers for lunch and trudged back to his office to finish the paper work on Leonard and start the paper work on the recent domestic abuse.

There was a present waiting on his chair. Lestrade groaned and grabbed it, falling to sit heavily.

It was a jar of roasted peanuts wrapped in a blue bow. And, of course, there was a note.

 

 **_R_ ** _oasted Peanuts are a lovely snack._

 

Lestrade’s head hurt too much for him to care at that moment. He dropped the nuts into his draw along with the chocolates, stuffed the note into his pocket, and grabbed a bottle of pain killers.


	5. You're Welcome

**You’re Welcome**

The next time there was no gift; just a note taped to his chair. He ripped it free and read quickly;

 

 **_Y_ ** _ou’re welcome._

 

Lestrade was really getting annoyed now. He’d been out of his office all of three minutes to get another cup of crappy coffee. Whoever was doing this was a bloody sneaky arsehole.


	6. Coffee Just For You

**Coffee Just For You**

He managed to finish the paperwork on Dustin Leonard about four hours before midnight. Granted, it wasn’t his best work and his handwriting was illegible near the end. But Greg was tired, hungry, and his eyes were drooping like mad. He needed a goddamn cigarette but ignored the craving, opting for his third cup of coffee.

There was a lot of chatter coming from the break room and Lestrade frowned as he entered. There were about ten officers crowding around the counter near the microwave.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

DI Dimmock turned to him, a mug in his hand. ‘New coffee machine.’

Greg frowned. ‘What?’

Dimmock waved him over and Greg approached to see a gleaming new coffee machine sitting beside the microwave. It was large and looked more expensive than Greg’s fridge.

‘Who got this?’ Lestrade asked.

‘Dunno,’ Dimmock shrugged, sipping from his mug. ‘I came in and it was just here. Excellent coffee.’

Lestrade frowned. Didn’t anyone else see that this was weird? Who the bloody hell had decided the break room finally needed a decent coffee machine? After all the notes; the chocolate, Leonard, the peanuts... Greg didn’t trust this coffee machine one bit.

Lestrade continued to stare as Dimmock made him a cup, pushing Greg’s mug into his hands.

‘Go on, it’s nice,’ Dimmock smiled and disappeared back to his desk.

Lestrade looked around. His fellow officers were all drinking the coffee and seemed fine. Okay, so not poisoned. And really, who would poison Lestrade by buying an expensive coffee maker, having it installed, and then letting every person in the building drink from it?

He gave in and sipped from the cup, groaning loudly. God was that good coffee. He leaned against the counter and took another sip, the bitter taste travelling down his throat perfectly.

That was when he noticed the small note stuck to the side of the coffee machine. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Lestrade grabbed the note and read it.

 

 **_C_ ** _offee just for you._

 

Same writing, same paper, same everything. Lestrade felt a smile break out on his face. This was, by far, the weirdest Christmas Eve he’d ever had, the time Sherlock had super glued himself to a reindeer included.

He mulled over the notes as he sipped his coffee.


	7. Hamburgers Are Proper Food, Detective

**Hamburgers Are Proper Food, Detective**

By nine Lestrade could no longer ignore the aching in his gut. He’d had three cups of the delicious coffee in the space of an hour and was buzzing nicely. It made his hunger all the more obvious and he stood stretching, back cracking as he left his office.

He went to Donovan first, she always had some type of sandwich or packet of crisps left over. But it was a no go; she was all out of snacks. He frowned and went to Dimmock, who was tapping away at his computer like a man on crack. The coffee was _really_ good. Unfortunately the younger DI had nothing to eat and Greg groaned.

He had no cash on him for the machines and cursed; he couldn’t even bloody order takeout.

‘I need some proper food!’ he shouted at the Yard. He earned a few raised eyebrows and blushed lightly as he went back to his office.

Greg froze in his doorway as the aroma of food hit him. He groaned softly and approached his desk, noting the white takeaway bag with a gold bow tied around the top. It seemed Greg’s mystery person had struck again.

He pulled off the note as he opened the bag, spying a large hamburger, two boxes of hot chips and a box of chicken nuggets.

 

 **_H_ ** _amburgers are proper food, Detective._

 

Lestrade was grinning now and he was so hungry he didn’t care if the food was poisoned. As long as it tasted good. Besides, surely there were easier ways to kill him. Moriarty had been taken care of so he wasn’t responsible and even Sherlock wouldn’t kill his main source of cases.

He fell into his chair and ripped into the burger, savouring the meat and sauce and God, everything was so great. He shoved chips into his mouth before downing some more coffee.

God bless his mystery note-leaver.


	8. Records

**Records**

The loud music penetrated Lestrade’s office and he stood from his paperwork. He opened the door to be assaulted by the high-pitched voice of Matthew Bellamy.

 

 _I thought I was a fool for no-one_

 _But oh, baby, I’m a fool for you¹_

 

‘Who the hell put this on?’ Greg asked. Not that he was complaining; he liked Muse and they were a shit load better than the stupid Christmas carols he’d been made to suffer through for the past month.

‘Dunno,’ Donovan shrugged from her desk.

‘What do you mean, you don’t–’

‘I dunno,’ Donovan cut him off. ‘It just started playing. No one knows where the music’s coming from.’

Lestrade frowned and stood listening, trying to pinpoint the exact source of the noise. But it was impossible; it was as though Matt Bellamy was singing right in his ear.

‘Okay,’ he muttered before turning to go back to his office. He backtracked quickly when he spotted the note and looked around. No-one was acting oddly, there were no suspicious or different people. He frowned and went back for the note.

 

 **_R_ ** _ecords._

 

It was the shortest note by far and Greg frowned. What the hell? Another song started and Lestrade paused to listen.

 

 _And without you is how I disappear_

 _And live my life alone_

 _Forever now_

 _And without you is how I disappear_

 _And live my life alone²_

 

Lestrade snorted. Whoever this guy was he had balls. Lestrade sat to finish his paperwork and try to ignore the thumping music overhead.

It was twenty minutes later that he realised each and every song was one of his personal favourites.

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹ Supermassive Black Hole by Muse  
> ² This Is How I Disappear by My Chemical Romance


	9. I Hate Paperwork Too

**I Hate Paperwork Too**

Lestrade had been bopping along to the songs, drinking coffee, and munching on cold chicken nuggets. He had completely and utterly failed to get any work done in the past hour.

There was a tap on his door and Greg jumped, blushing at having been caught singing.

‘Yeah?’

‘Chief said thanks for getting the paperwork done so quickly.’

Greg frowned. ‘What?’

‘Chief said thanks,’ Donovan said, ‘for the domestic case report.’

Lestrade looked down at his desk. The report was sitting there, barely finished, and his frown deepened.

‘But I–’

‘This came for you,’ Donovan butted in and handed him an envelope. ‘The Chief found it on his desk.’

Greg thanked her and watched Sally disappear back to her desk. He turned the envelope to find his name written in the same flowing writing as all the notes. He ripped it open and, sure enough, a slip of paper fell out;

 

 **_I_ ** _hate paperwork too._

 

Lestrade was torn between screaming and grinning. Whoever was leaving all these notes had done his paperwork for him. He tilted his head, mind whirling, trying to figure out just what was going on.

Who the hell was clever enough, sneaky enough, and had the power to do all of this? The chocolates, the coffee, the peanuts, paperwork, everything... just who could do all that?

Greg felt his stomach flip as one name entered his head. No... no, it couldn’t possibly be...


	10. System Crash

**System Crash**

The power went out an hour before midnight. Greg was reclining in his seat, trying to decipher the notes and the meaning behind them. His paperwork was done, there were no cases, really he should have been heading home.

But to what? Beer, food, a book... it seemed much more interesting at Scotland Yard.

Suddenly everything went black and Greg blinked, wondering if he’d gone blind. He heard a few people shout as he stood, cursing that he’d left his torch in the car. He slid out his mobile and used the glow from the screen to find his way out.

Most people had frozen where they were, looking around and wondering what was happening. Greg headed for the break room to grab another coffee. He bumped into Donovan on his way back and nearly spilt his drink.

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘No worries,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

‘Dunno, all the power just went out.’

‘How many blocks?’ Greg asked.

‘None,’ Donovan answered, ‘just the Yard.’

‘What?’

‘I know; weird,’ Donovan shrugged.

He decided to push that mystery aside and head back to his office. Hopefully the power would come back on soon.

There was a note taped to his door. Greg put his coffee down and pulled it from the wood, using the glow from his mobile screen to read it.

 

 **_S_ ** _ystem crash._

 

Lestrade didn’t understand how crashing the system (what system?) was helpful. He frowned and shoved the note into his pocket as a few people broke into giggles in the dark.


	11. Tasteful Decorations

**Tasteful Decorations**

Ten minutes later, after talking to Dimmock and a few others about the sudden blackout, Lestrade opened the door to his office (when had he closed it?)

After spending the last fifteen minutes in almost total darkness, the sudden glare of lights was blinding. Greg blinked to get his eyesight back and peeled his eyelids open again.

Lestrade gasped. His office had been lit up with flashing lights around the walls close to the ceiling. A small tree in the corner was covered in white lights and little peppermint candy canes (Greg’s favourite). A sign saying, ‘Merry Christmas’ had been strung across the back wall of his office and there was red and green tinsel taped to his chair and table.

‘What the hell?’ Donovan said.

‘I have no idea,’ Lestrade shrugged. He spotted the note attached to the top of the tree and grinned as he took it.

 

 **_T_ ** _asteful decorations._

 

Lestrade smiled and Donovan read the two words over his shoulder, the lights overhead casting a warm and colourful glow.

‘Huh?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea,’ Lestrade said.

‘Hmm,’ Donovan murmured.

‘What?’

‘I’d say someone’s trying to get your attention.’

Lestrade chuckled. ‘You think? This is a bit hard to miss, Sally. It’s... it’s insane.’

‘I think it’s fantastic,’ Sally grinned and looked around. ‘Someone went to all this trouble to decorate your office just so you’d smile. And it worked.’

It had. At first the notes had been annoying and weird. Now they were fantastic and he grinned each time he got them. They were still weird, of course.

‘Yeah,’ he said and stuffed the note away. ‘It _is_ fantastic.’


	12. My Apologies For The Mystery

**My Apologies For The Mystery**

The lights came back on at midnight, much to the annoyance of some people. A few officers had been enjoying sipping drinks in the glow of mobile phones, torches, and the odd candle.

After blinking back spots Greg decided it was probably time to head home. It was Christmas, after all, and he needed a nap after all the excitement of the day.

He pulled on his coat and ignored the bloodstain on his left sleeve. He’d have to soak it when he got home.

Keys, wallet, phone, notes; check.

Greg stepped from his office and turned to lock the door...

...only to find another note.

He ripped it free and read it as he headed for the elevator, stomach doing that odd flip thing. Greg was beginning to have suspicions about the mysterious note leaver.

 

 **_M_ ** _y apologies for the mystery._

 

Greg snorted. He’d heard those words before.


	13. A Relaxing Ride

**A** **Relaxing** **Ride**

Greg tugged on his scarf as he exited the building, heading towards the station. He really didn’t want to spend the next hour on the tube but little could be done. There was no point in having a car when he lived so close to Scotland Yard.

Greg stopped to apply a fresh nicotine patch after passing a couple smoking. He badly wanted to inhale some of the sweet smoke but knew he was doing well. As he pulled down his sleeves again, shivering, a black car pulled up beside him.

Lestrade frowned and stared at it, the car idling on the curb. Finally the back door opened and the woman from earlier stuck her head out.

Sighing, half from relief, half from annoyance, Greg climbed into the car. He hadn’t recognised her earlier but now, in the warmth of the car and without a tied-up body on the ground, Greg knew the PA.

‘So... what’s happening?’ he asked.

She ignored him, like usual, and Greg settled back into his seat. Suddenly a note was thrust into his hand and he took it from her. She smiled slightly as he read it.

 

 **_A_ ** _relaxing ride._

 

Greg chuckled and put the note in his pocket with the others. ‘So it _is_ him, right?’ he asked. ‘Your boss?’

Like usual, she ignored him. It just confirmed Greg’s suspicions and he felt his heart flutter. What was all of this? A way to get Greg’s attention? The man had had his eye for months. And Greg had the feeling the man knew.


	14. Secret Admirer

**Secret Admirer**

The car pulled up outside Greg’s flat and disappeared as soon as he stepped out. It was snowing and Greg spent a minute gazing up at the sky, grinning and just thinking about the weirdness that had been his day. He hugged his arms close against the cold and raced up the stairs when he started shivering.

His heart was thumping painfully fast as he stuck the key into his door... only to find the door open already.

Swallowing, Greg stepped into his flat.

He was assaulted by the nicest thing he had smelled in months. On his kitchen table were two plates. There were thick, juicy steaks, cooked vegetables, mash potato, gravy, bread rolls, and salad. Two glasses of wine sat on either side of the plates along with napkins, forks and sharp steak knives.

Greg shed his coat and jacket, untucking and unbuttoning his shirt as he approached. He managed to kick his shoes off and leaned over to sniff the food.

‘I trust you have had an interesting day.’

Greg turned at the sound of the voice, smirking as he did. Mycroft Holmes was leaning against the front door, arms folded over his expensive silk shirt. Lestrade noted that his coat, jacket, waistcoat and tie were all folded on his couch. The man was, much to Greg’s astonishment, wearing red-and-green striped socks.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg said, feeling his stomach twist. It always did when he was around the elder Holmes. ‘How are you?’

‘Quite alright,’ the politician answered, not moving from against the door.

‘My day’s been... interesting, yeah,’ Greg said and smiled.

Mycroft smiled back. ‘Really? How so?’

‘Well, I got all these weird notes,’ Greg said, taking one of the glasses and sipping the wine.

‘Oh?’ Mycroft murmured, eyes widening like he was surprised by the news.

‘Yeah,’ Greg nodded. ‘First this criminal I was chasing was delivered to me by a strange woman in a car.’

‘You know women,’ Mycroft said. ‘They’re full of secrets.’

Greg snorted. ‘Then there was a box of chocolates left on my desk. Expensive ones.’

‘Expensive ones are the best.’

The DI took another sip of wine. ‘Then there were raspberries left on my car, roasted peanuts in my office, and a note that said I was welcome.’

‘Really? How odd.’

Greg shook his head. ‘We got a new coffee machine from places unknown... fantastic coffee.’ Mycroft looked smug at that. ‘I got some delicious food delivered, again by an unknown source. Then someone played all my favourite records to the whole Yard, someone did my paperwork, we had a weird blackout, someone decorated my office, apologised for all the mystery, and then gave me a lift home.’

Mycroft raised a well-manicured eyebrow, arms still folded. ‘And you believe that the same person is responsible for all this?’

‘I kept the notes,’ Greg said and fished the notes from his pocket. When he had them he looked up to see that Mycroft was standing right in front of him. ‘Erm...’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft said softly, slowly, eyes roaming over the DI’s chest.

‘Yeah?’

‘Did you like the gifts?’

‘So they _were_ from you?’

‘I refuse to confirm or deny that until you tell me if you liked them.’

Greg smiled. ‘I liked them.’

‘Really? How marvellous.’

‘They were annoying at first but now... well, it was all very romantic.’

Mycroft’s eyes slid to lock onto Greg’s, a smile pulling at his lips. God, he had such soft looking lips. Greg had lost count of the amount of times he imagined kissing Mycroft’s lips.

‘Gregory?’

‘Yeah?’ he mumbled.

‘Do you realise what the notes meant?’

Greg frowned. ‘Huh?’

Mycroft smiled and stepped back. Greg frowned; he wanted Mycroft as close as possible. The politician smiled, as though he knew exactly what Greg was thinking (he probably did).

‘Gregory, lay all the notes on the table in order,’ he said and moved the plates and wine aside, ‘one below the other.’

Raising an eyebrow, Greg did as asked, placing the notes on the wood.

‘Add this one,’ Mycroft said, handing Greg one last, final note.

It had two simple words that sent Greg’s heart fluttering. He also realised he’d missed the obvious clue that they were all written in Mycroft’s handwriting.

 

 **_S_ ** _ecret admirer._

 

Smiling, Greg added the final note.

‘The first letter of the first word is in bold,’ Mycroft murmured, sliding up closer behind Greg. His warm front pressed into the DI’s back, his cologne washing over Greg and making him gulp. ‘Look closely at the first letter of every note,’ he whispered into Greg’s ear.

Greg managed a nod and looked down at his table, at the notes;

 

 **_M_ ** _urderers are easy to catch._

 **_E_ ** _verybody likes chocolate._

 **_R_ ** _aspberries are your favourite._

 **_R_ ** _oasted peanuts are a lovely snack._

 **_Y_ ** _ou’re welcome._

 **_C_ ** _offee just for you._

 **_H_ ** _amburgers are proper food, Detective._

 **_R_ ** _ecords._

 **_I_ ** _hate paperwork too._

 **_S_ ** _ystem crash._

 **_T_ ** _asteful decorations._

 **_M_ ** _y apologies for all the mystery._

 **_A_ ** _relaxing ride._

 **_S_ ** _ecret admirer._

 

Greg focused on the first letter of every note, like Mycroft had said, and found himself giggling. The notes spelled out ‘Merry Christmas.’

Warm hands slid around his waist and Greg turned.

‘Merry Christmas, Gregory.’

Greg smiled. ‘Is this your way of wooing me?’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘Wooing, Gregory, really?’ He paused, lips tugged up in a smile as he ran his eyes along Greg’s face. ‘Perhaps,’ he finally admitted. ‘Has it worked?’

Rather than answer, Greg did something he’d wanted to do for months; he placed a soft kiss on Mycroft’s lips. The government official hummed and when Lestrade pulled back he was grinning.

‘Yes, I suppose it did,’ Greg said. ‘But next time just ask me out.’

Mycroft smiled wickedly. ‘Where would be the fun in that?’ Greg kissed him again, lips and tongues pressing together softly. They finally had to break away for air and Mycroft chuckled.

‘What?’ Lestrade asked.

‘You should see what I have planned for New Year’s.’

Greg looked up at him and couldn’t help but laugh. Mycroft smiled.

‘Merry Christmas, Gregory.’

‘Merry Christmas, Mycroft.’

 

{THE END}


End file.
